


Just For Show

by xblightning



Series: Adam du Mortain x Frankie Fairbanks [3]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, basically they pretend to bone so they don’t get caught snooping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xblightning/pseuds/xblightning
Summary: “What are you doing?” he asks, alarmed.“I’m going to make it look like we’re having sex,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.Adam chokes on air. “What?”“No one will think twice about a couple who snuck away to have a private moment, but if we’re just caught standing in the Mayor’s office, they’ll have questions about why we’re here.”
Relationships: Detective/Adam du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Series: Adam du Mortain x Frankie Fairbanks [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157789
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	Just For Show

Adam stands by the door, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and watches while Frankie makes her way across the Mayor’s office, opening drawers and filing cabinets as she goes. She had been convinced for months now that Friedman was somehow connected to the increased Trapper activity in Wayhaven—unlikely, in Adam’s opinion, as it would be impossible for him to keep something like that from the Agency—but Frankie’s insistence had somehow brought the two of them here, to the Mayor’s mansion.

According to Frankie, the Mayor held this dinner twice a year for the purpose of rubbing elbows with Wayhaven’s most popular and powerful. And tonight, after months of brushing the old man off, the two of them had finally accepted their invitations.

Not that they would be staying for long, of course. As soon as Frankie found the evidence she was looking for, or more likely when she gave up in the absence of finding it, they would leave.

“Find anything?” Adam asks her from where he’s leaning in the doorway, his tone less than kind.

She glares at him from where she’s kneeling behind the Mayor’s desk, only her eyes and the top of her head visible. “You could help me, you know.”

“I am helping you,” he counters. “If I recall correctly, I was the only one willing to come on this fool’s errand with you.”

Frankie stands, brushing off her skirt as she does so. “Only because you think I’ll find nothing, and you wanted to be here to condescend me about it,” she says, eyes narrowed at him between dark lashes.

Adam says nothing. It’s easier to let her believe that rather than the truth, which was that he wanted to be here to protect her in case she got into trouble. And maybe, just maybe, there was a small part of him that just wanted to spend the evening with her. He’d been doing his best to avoid her since the carnival, but instead of easing the intensity of his feelings as he hoped it would, the distance between them only made him think of her more.

His thoughts of Frankie are interrupted by a distant sound. He hones in on it with his senses, and that’s when he hears it.

Adam’s head snaps towards Frankie, who has gone back to digging through the desk, oblivious with her human ears. “Security is sweeping the third floor,” he tells her urgently.

She stops, her grey eyes wide with alarm. “How long do we have to hide?”

“A minute,” he says as he walks towards her, examining the room. “But I don’t think hiding will work.” The room is small and the furniture is ornate, and he can’t see anywhere he’d have success hiding his large frame. He might be able to squeeze behind the desk with her, but they’d be easy to spot if security took more than two steps into the room.

He looks at the single window. A jump from the third floor is easy for Adam, but he’d have to convince Frankie to let him carry her. She hated heights, especially falling from them, so that would require convincing—but as their only alternative to discovery, the window was the most promising.

“I have an idea,” Frankie says suddenly, sounding grave.

He's barely had time to register her words before she's on him, dragging him by the collar of his shirt towards the desk. She sits herself delicately on the edge and tugs up her skirt, revealing the smooth expanse of her thigh.

“What are you doing?” he asks, alarmed.

“I’m going to make it look like we’re having sex,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Adam chokes on air. “What?”

“No one will think twice about a couple who snuck away to have a private moment, but if we’re just caught standing in the Mayor’s office, they’ll have questions about why we’re here.”

"Fran..." His mind blanks when she lifts her blouse off over her head, leaving her in just a simple black bra from the waist up. Adam quickly forces his eyes up to her face, where she runs a hand through her hair to free it from its confines. Mousey brown locks fall around her shoulders, framing her face. 

Noticing the way he’s staring at her, she raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No,” he admits.

Frankie begins working on the buttons of his shirt. She works fast under pressure, and before he knows it, his shirt is left hanging off his shoulders, chest open to the cold air.

She pulls him closer, and Adam almost groans at the sensation of her chest pressing against his. She wiggles down a little so that his thigh is pressed firmly between her legs. There’s two layers of material between them, but it’s still thin enough that he can feel the heat of her. He closes his eyes tightly, tries to breathe through it.

“Are you alright?” she asks quietly.

He nods, still not looking at her. She holds him close, one arm around his waist and the other in his hair, and watches the door over his shoulder. 

They listen, the silence of the room heavier than before. The guards are closer than before, only one or two doors away now.

Suddenly Frankie closes her eyes and moans loudly, loud enough for them to hear outside. It’s an attempt to deter them before they even try to enter, clearly fake, yet his stomach swoops with unexpected arousal. He ruthlessly smothers it as her eyes flick open and meet his.

“Now you,” she prompts.

Very well. He makes a noise, but by the way Frankie frowns at him, it’s clearly not meeting her expectations. Adam glares at her and lets out a long suffering sigh and tries again, this time lower and more wanton, glancing down just in time to see the disapproval slide abruptly off her face.

Someone speaks outside, and his attention snaps away from her. He's focusing on the sound of footsteps in the hall, louder in his ears than the sound of her heavy breaths, and he’s doing quite admirably, he thinks, at keeping himself in check.

Then, for some reason, she decides to grind against him, a slow rolling rhythm. His breath hitches and the hands he has on her waist tighten as he tries to ground himself. “Francine—“

“They’re going to come in here,” she says, hushing him like a spooked horse. “It has to look genuine.”

She repeats the motion with a small whine, the noise and going straight to his cock. He groans, not faked in the least, unable to help his body’s reaction. Surely she can feel him against her now, his lapse in control. He tries to shift back a bit, get some space between them, but her leg wraps around his and she arches her hips up.

“Francine,” he pleads, ashamed and desperate. He throbs, low and insistent, trousers uncomfortably tight.

“It’s fine,” she reassures breathlessly, running a hand down his back, the other gripping at his neck. He makes a strangled noise, because it’s not fine, none of this is fine in the least.

They’re trying to avoid getting caught snooping around the Mayor’s office by faking sex on his desk and he’s harder than he’s been in 900—

She kisses him.

His whole thought process stutters to a halt. She kisses him, her mouth eager against his, her tongue slipping forward into his mouth.

And he can't help but kiss her back, slanting his mouth against hers, feeling the full plushness of her lower lip between his teeth.

His fingers leave her waist and travel up along her spine, over the clasp of her bra and the sharp angle of her shoulder blades. She arches into his touch and digs her fingers into his hair and oh, he likes that, the little sting of pain that accompanies her touch.

When she breaks the kiss to catch her breath, he takes the opportunity to glance down at her, at the tops of her breasts that are visible before being blocked by the edge of her bra.

And then he looks at her face. It’s—devastating, really, the way she looks up at him through her lashes like that. Arousal is still coursing hot and sudden through his veins, but like a reflex, he brings his free hand up to cup her face, thumb stroking across her cheekbone gently.

Distantly, he hears the faint clicking noise of the door being unlocked. Frankie moans instantly, dramatic and needy, grabbing him urgently and pressing their mouths back together.

“Shit!” the man yelps and the door slams back shut as quickly as it had opened.

Frankie stops and pulls back a few inches. “Listen,” she tells him breathlessly, still trying to catch her breath.

Adam hears the guard’s buddies ask him what happened, and then jeer at him when he answers. Then they continue down the hallway, laughing, making some comment about checking the upper floors, the sounds fading with distance.

“They are gone,” he tells her, but he can hardly spare a thought for them with her still pressed against him in the way she is.

Neither of them move for a few moments—and then their eyes meet, in sync, and he sees the look of shock and discomfort flash across her face as she realizes what they’ve done.

Adam jerks away from her and she lets him go, legs falling from around his waist. He leans against the edge, avoiding her eyes as he pushes a palm against the front of his pants with a hiss, frustration and need coiling in his belly.

“Adam,” she says, sounding apologetic.

He runs a hand down his face. “I need a minute.” When she doesn’t move, he adds, “Find the evidence we came here for, Francine.”

She actually listens to him. Whether it's in an attempt to preserve what little dignity he has left or something else, he doesn't know.

Bending over to fetch her blouse and tugging it over her head, she goes to the other side of the desk and continues rummaging around.

Adam lets his hand fall away and stares up at the ceiling, trying not to think about Frankie and what they just did— _pretended_ to do. Once he's mostly wrestled himself back under control, he sits up and looks at her.

“Here’s something,” she says, and pulls out a few pieces of paper that have been bound together. It looks to be some kind of ledger. “It’s written in code, but the dates are still there.”

Adam comes to stand beside her, peering over her shoulder at the paperwork. He’s not sure where to put his hands, standing this close to her once again. There's nothing different about them at all, but now they know the softness of her skin, the curve of her waist. He clenches them into fists and says nothing.

Frankie points to something. “Look. These transactions began around the time the Trappers came to Wayhaven,” she continues. “It’s not exactly proof, but it’s _something_.”

“Then you have what you wanted,” he replies, his tone flat, and walks towards the door, unable to stand another moment of being so achingly near to her. “Let’s go.”

———

They leave the party quickly after that, but Adam almost wishes that they had stayed for dessert. The car ride back to the warehouse is unbearable.

Neither of them speak, but he can’t ignore her the way she is ignoring him, her forehead pressed against the passenger side window as she stares out at the forest. His whole body still aches for her, and she’s right there, less than a foot away from him, the soft noise of her breathing and the heat of her body filling the small space between them. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel, which gives a groan of protest. This is agony.

“Are you alright?” Frankie asks him quietly.

He takes a deep breath before he speaks, but that only makes him more aware of her. He can smell her, the subtle floral sort of scent of her shampoo and beneath that her blood, even more potent to him after he’d had his nose pressed against her neck.

Damn it. How is he supposed to do damage control after this? After the exact thing he’s been trying to keep from happening has happened?

“Adam?”

“I am fine,” he replies tightly.

But his response only seems to worry her. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn't have asked you to do that. I should have just let us get caught, let you use your pheromones to talk us out of there.”

“We made a plan on the spot and did what he had to,” he says, wearing thin. “It was no different from what we had to do on your first mission.”

Frankie swallows hard and then nods. “Right. _Just for show_ ,” she says bitterly, and he’s taken aback that she remembers his exact words from that night. “I’m glad we can both be honest with each other.”

They’re silent for the rest of the ride. When they arrive at the warehouse, Frankie is out of the car the moment he puts it in park, slamming the door behind her and trudging up the gravel path.

He watches her go. _It’s better this way_ , he tells himself. If she’s angry at him, it’ll be easier for him to stay away from her.

At least, he can hope.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @blightning, sometimes i even draw frankie and adam <3


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